


Muscle Memory

by heroictype



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode Fix-it, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Episode 147
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 06:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18888940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heroictype/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: The Scientist traces a path home. The Voice speaks up from the fault lines. Although they have never moved this way before, their bodies remember.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I couldn't let 147 just happen. This is wildly different than what happens in canon, and it was made seeking a very different kind of emotional catharsis.
> 
> This one features a lot of unreality, and there's an instance of brief self-harm (to open the radio station doors).

Carlos stood at the designated food-safe sink at the lab, rinsing out his coffee mug. The smell of stale coffee had given way completely to tap water and soap, but he swished another few mugfuls down the drain. He checked the bottom carefully for grounds and stains between each rinse. Maybe it was wasteful, but the running water kept the sound of his colleagues' voices to just that. Wordless murmurings.

Still, he couldn't keep it up forever. He really did not like to be wasteful. He turned off the water.

"-might not be able to get funding, anyway," finished Doctor Kayali.

Carlos sopped up as much water as he could with a single-ply paper towel.

"Well, they'd have to pay to, to remove all this, right? Can't they at least give us that money?"

Carlos threw the paper towel in the trash, and listened to it shift against the plastic bag on the way down. Dave was pleading. Again. Carlos sketched out an equation in his head; a hypothesis of: if "science = water" and "desperation = oil," then science and desperation did not mix.

"They'd rather cut their losses," Doctor Kayali said.

Carlos had heard it often enough.

"It's not about winning or losing!" He exclaimed. Again.

There was a well-accepted theory in the scientific community about repeating the same action and expecting a different result. Doctor Kayali, Dave, and every other scientist in the lab turned to him. Their appraisal, their anxiety or annoyance, pressed the conclusion from Carlos: "It's science!"

Dr. Kayali sighed. "Okay. It's about results."

Carlos rejoined them, snatching his clipboard off the counter on the way. He held it out for them to see, and gestured with his whole hand at what was, for a lot of them at that distance, illegible, although they knew what it said.

"We have results. Some of the results are, 'the control group was contaminated so we didn't get any useable data' or 'this is actually the opposite of what we were expecting to happen, which means we probably won't be able to do what we were originally supposed to, but we found some really cool slugs!' And then…"

He pulled the clipboard back, angled about forty-five degrees from his chest, and _hmm_ ed. He glanced up, observed the wincing and shuffling of the other scientists, and said, "Well, we don't need to talk about that one. But it was a result. No one got hurt, and they rebuilt- well, I said I wouldn't talk about it. It's useable data, though, so…" He offered a thumb's-up to the group.

No one said anything. The first few people turned back to their work, and from there the structural integrity continued to fail. Doctor Kayali gave him a sympathetic grimace, or he thought it was sympathetic. Maybe it was annoyed. Definitely a grimace, though, based on the pull of her lips and the tightness of her eyes. Then she spun away from him in her clean, white coat, and returned to her office and her wider oversight of university research.

Only Nilanjana stopped him, with a grave, but sympathetic, expression - sympathetic, he was more confident about saying, based on the melancholy note and the context, and what she said.

"Hey. Shoot me an email where you end up. If you've got a position open, I would be interested."

He smiled, and he hoped it was appreciative, but it just felt obviously hollow. It wasn't. Nilanjana would have gladly waited for an email and the opportunity to work with him again. But it was sometimes difficult for him to judge his own expression, and he was under a lot of stress.

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

He reclaimed his mug, and got more coffee. He would need it. He had no time to waste, and he wasn't as young as he once was. He thought. Linear time was confusing, so maybe he had plenty of time and always would, and death was a shared fantasy against the looming possibility of eternity that no one could bear to spoil.

Well. Maybe it would be a long night, maybe not. But he was certain to experience a long night. Therefore, he needed coffee.

 

* * *

 

Cecil leaned against the doorframe of his bedroom, sipping a cup of coffee. He saw only what he expected to see: his unmade bed, his nightstand, his dresser. He was aware that other things were there, and he wasn't worried about them. If they chose to reveal themselves, great, but he wasn't inclined to pester or poke. He saw everything he expected to see. There was nothing else to look for.

He couldn't figure out why he kept bringing coffee up to the bedroom. There was no reason not to drink it in the kitchen.

That was as far as the thought went. He couldn't figure it out because he wasn't considering it. He had to go to work. He had a show to do. He wasn't scheduled to start for a couple of hours, but it wouldn't hurt anything to head to the station early, get himself situated. The Blood Space War had kept him busy, even in its eventual aftermath.

He stood in the bedroom doorway. There was nothing there, beyond the usual configuration of his life. He turned away, and out of the corner of his eye, there - Just there. Something stirring in his bed. Someone.

He stopped. He knew not to turn back, not to look directly. But now, even in his periphery, nothing.

Nothing. Except for… He caught himself on the opposite wall, just past the threshold, just in the hall. His mug nearly tipped; he caught it against his palm and clenched it in both hands as if it could keep him at all stable. He was facing two ways at once; he was mythical and false. He felt the distinct crush of tectonics, not the earthquake that any human should have, but the wild power of one vast plate scraping on another.

Someone was there. No one was there. Someone he knew, no one at all.

No one at all.

He drained the last of his coffee, let it settle in his stomach.

He really did need to get to the station before it got too much later. At least he wouldn't have to worry about much traffic. There were some advantages to a small town now supposedly smaller.

 

* * *

 

 

The data was fascinating.

It was fascinating, beautiful and terrible in the way that only science could be, the sense that you had pinned opened the awful membrane of the monster's guts and now you understood real hunger and would never have an appetite again. Until, at least, your own stomach gurgled and snapped you back into the finite shell of your own body, and you chipped in ten dollars with your coworkers to order sandwiches.

Graduate-studies in biology had been years ago, anyway. Now, it was only a memory and a metaphor for astronomy. Although astronomy was not a real science, the university had wanted a scientist to lead the project, and Carlos had agreed, because of the implications for application in astrology.

The moon was there, but it wasn't. Like it was just right there when you looked at it. And it was between two other identical moons, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But they couldn't find it. They couldn't reach it. They had spent years grasping at an illusion that, once, someone had walked on. Beautiful and terrible, the quicksilver moon that refused to hold its shape. He could see it through the lab window, and he wrote this down on his clipboard.

_If it isn't there, then what am I looking at? What are we looking at? What is the world looking at right now?_

Although, right now, he was only looking at his clipboard, covered in data that would soon lose its purpose. Meaningless, he thought, except that it wasn't - meaning and purpose were synonyms mostly where humans were concerned. The information would always mean something, even if no one ever used it for anything. Even if their hypothesis was completely wrong, and there had never been a moon at all.

Of course, he didn't believe in the moon. He was a scientist. He trusted the data they had found, and the data they had found said: there used to be a moon. Something had tried to destroy it about seven years ago. Sometimes it had succeeded, and sometimes it hadn't, and now they were living in a reality where the moon was no longer a constant.

But they couldn't prove it. Couldn't even make the jump from hypothesis to formal theory. Although, he would have been ashamed to admit, he stayed perched on this idea in his head, a risky, river-soaked rock. And yet even that rock was more solid than anything his team had found.

"Ugh. Ugh! Seriously?"

He drained the last of his coffee, slid his phone into his pocket, and took his clipboard with him down to the North Research Building's parking lot. It was a cold, windless night; the chill settled slowly through his evening lab coat as he stood, staring at the moon with no plexiglass or drywall or anything but the vastness of space between them.

He demanded, "Hey! What are you doing up there? Do you understand just how hard we've been working, trying to study you? It will be your-"

He stopped, biting his lip. No, it would not be the moon's fault if - _when_ \- the project was canceled. It would not even be their fault, really. It would be because of university bigwigs, who could not respect the many forms that _results_ could take. They didn't want results, they wanted something they could profit off of, even if that was just the funding which prestige itself could bring.

He remembered. The project had just been so _interesting_ . All that potential for scientific knowledge, and actually, it had been fulfilled. Was currently being fulfilled, and now, was about to be shut off. The project was so interesting, and when they asked him to stay for it, he said yes. Actually, he said: _sure, sounds neat!_ And then he'd signed some papers.

But he remembered, what he'd been feeling before that, before he had given into temptation. He remembered that he had come to hate this place, where everyone treated science like they treated humanity. Like it had to have a purpose to have meaning. Like it didn't just deserve to exist.

He had planned on an all-nighter, but the lights in the building were off, except for his. He had been the only one still working.

He got in his car, threw the clipboard in the passenger seat, and drove home.

 

* * *

 

Cecil flipped through the papers.

An ad for the Vons - as if they had anywhere else to get groceries around there.

An announcement that the angels were casting for a new opera, a reimagining of the Blood Space War in bone and ocean - ooh, maybe he could do a report. A few interviews with the hopeful performers. What inspired _you_ to be involved with such a controversial community theater production?

Maybe even an angel or two, if he could get them to cool it with the trumpets. He rubbed his temple, just thinking about the trumpets, and shuffled through the stack.

Community calendar, a couple of weather requests - uh-huh, because he always had control of that - more ads. Support your local bloodstone factory, a sale of military surplus birds, a fly salesman named Alan was trying to set up shop. Veterans' Discount!

He caught his thumb on that last one, and pulled it from the stack. That wasn't right. Albert hadn't come around for ages; Night Vale had a saturated fly market and he just could never empty out that cowhide suitcase of his. Also, he had tried to kidnap someone, an actual kid, no less. Even if he had wanted to stay after that, yeah, no. They were a strong community, and they would not just let _kidnappers_ torment them. Not without government authorization,

And Cecil was pretty sure the man's name wasn't Adam, either. Did it even start with an A?

He looked at the advertisement in his hand, something about a new sandwich place, and forgot what he had been thinking about.

Yes. Cecil forgot entirely that _his name started with an E, and he hadn't been around in years because he had to go be mayor of some worse place. The kidnapping was totally a thing, though._

He pressed a hand to his mouth. It was like seeing double without any visual stimuli. It was worse, just the pull behind his eyes.

 _Austin, dragging cowhide behind him; Brad, running at the edge of the light; Clark, in his corduroy coat._ Faces and names and fabrics so varied and fluid that they shifted like static. _Darren, drafted into the war, never to see home again._ And Cecil knew none of it. But he did. Just not him, not Cecil Palmer sitting in this chair at the radio station, who needed to get it together for his show in less than an hour.

He straightened out the sandwich advertisement that had crumpled in his grip. _Get it together, Cecil._

He needed more coffee.

 

* * *

 

Or at least, Carlos made it from one parking lot to another. Outside of his apartment, he stopped, draping his arm over the steering wheel and resting his head there. He knew he was disgusted, but with what or who - the work, the failure, the bigwigs, himself, all of these things and people - he was having trouble prying the specifics from the emotion.

He checked his cupholders for gum, and found none. So he was probably out. Just to be sure, he rifled through the glove compartment, too. He really could've used something to chew, not to mention some calming lavender. The softly purple scent never failed to make him feel better. Purple was a calming flavor. It was science.

There was no gum in the glove compartment, either, but he did find something else. An old letter, crumpled, and the return address had been smudged in the first place. An opportunity for a research fellowship at a community college in the southwest. If he could help them out with a few classes, that would be cool, too, said the letter. Just really rad. Thanks.

But he had already signed on to the astronomy (ha!) department's lunar research, and also there was no return address on the letter. No indication of where it came from at all, in fact. Looking it over again now, a combination of water damage, misprinting, and here and there something green and somehow still sticky - he realized, wiping his hand on his coat pocket - had successfully obscured all mentions of the location.

Had he really never thought about tracking the place down? At that point, it was statistically unlikely for this obstruction to be a coincidence. He must have thought something of it, done some research. He had. He remembered getting the letter, and he had looked into it, but - Maybe he just hadn't found anything.

Of course, that had been seven years ago. No doubt they had filled the position. But it was an important reminder, just when he needed it: there was other science out there.

He folded the letter up again, and snapped it in its envelope onto his clipboard. He'd see if he could get some sleep, maybe, before he had to go in to work and officially face the music. First, though, he really wanted some gum. It was just a quick trip to the nearest 24-hour store.

 

* * *

 

 

They had been out of coffee in the breakroom. Of course. Lance was too busy, and it wasn't like you could send tarantulas to the grocery store.

Not after the last time, anyway. They couldn't read any of the labels, and came back with decaf.

Now, more than any other time, he wished they'd been able to get the internship program off the ground. He should just have to be in and out, anyway; they had plenty of sugar, but they needed some creamer. Well, he didn't, because he wasn't a fool who corrupted his coffee. But as a courtesy, he would pick some up.

He got stuck in the coffee aisle, instead. He couldn't find his favorite brand, and flagged down the weekday shift manager.

"Hey, Charlie?"

Charlie ducked into the aisle, shoving a fistful of really cool slugs back into his apron. "Hi, Cecil. How're you?"

"Oh, I'm okay. In a bit of a hurry, though - Can you tell me what you did with the Maxwell Hammer-ready coffee? I _need_ to grab some before the show."

"The… what? I don't think we've ever carried that."

"The… oh, you know, it's my favorite brand… It just pounds more smoothly-"

"Doesn't sound familiar." Charlie shrugged. "Is there another one I can help you find?"

"Oh." Cecil examined the wall of coffee, and saw what he was looking for almost right in front of him. He plucked a tin of store brand Claw-Ready coffee from the shelf, and spun it in his hands. The familiar lobster mascot grinned up at him, crushing a single bean in the tip of its pincers. "You know what? Never mind, I found what I needed. Gosh. I'm sorry."

He put the coffee tin his cart _,_ and - _a hammer smiled on this one. Or he was holding two, and he was holding them up to someone else. He really wanted that person's opinion about which kind of coffee they should choose. He really just wanted to hear that person's voice--_

"It's fine. We all have those days."

No. Not Charlie's voice. Not that Cecil didn't like Charlie, but. Cecil frowned at the coffee. The lobster mascot smiled at him, reassuring him that everything would be alright if he just bought this particular product.

Cecil asked, "Do we? Do you have days when you know more than you know, that there used to be a different kind of coffee here, but you know now that there never was. You know both of these things, and so you doubt that either of them are real?"

"I mean, I know I do." Charlie nudged, "Do you need anything else?"

"No. Thanks."

Cecil twisted the coffee around, so that he couldn't see the lobster, and headed for checkout. There was no one behind the register. Now that he thought about, he hadn't seen a single employee, and the only other customers were the shifting shapes that lived behind the cereal.

"So that makes it free, right?" He said loudly, and then sighed, because of course it didn't and the last thing he needed right now was to dig around for exact change. The first he needed, though, was coffee. It would be fine if he just left the money, he thought, because he had no understanding of retail inventory management. It just didn't come up much in community radio.

 

* * *

 

 

Just a quick trip.

Carlos was about to lose his job, anyway.

On his way to check out, something caught his eye. He had the gum he'd gone in for, and also some orange juice and milk, and a copy of the latest _Enquirer_ , his favorite scientific journal. He grabbed the road map, too. Only four more items than he'd actually meant to grab was, on the whole, a pretty good outcome for a trip he had not planned out beforehand.

And, it was just. He just had something he wanted to check. He fished a microscope out from the backseat, and set it up on the dashboard.  Earlier, he noticed some grains of sand in the envelope. He arranged them now on a slide, and observed them, noting his observations allowed as he wrote them down.

"Huh. Uh-huh. Very interesting… So, based on the composition of the rock that was ground up to make this sand… It's highly likely that it comes from…" He bent over the map, open on the passenger seat, running his finger along a line of the grid. His brow furrowed, until he jabbed at a certain spot, and grinned. "This region!"

He circled the region in question with a pen, and he understood: in that region, there was a statistical anomaly, a sticky-green puzzle, and, most importantly, a scientific mystery. And here he was, a scientist in need of some science to do.

He hadn't had a personal project for a while, and anyway, it would just be a quick trip.

 

* * *

 

Cecil dropped the hammer back onto the counter when he lost track of where his arm was in the swing. He had just raised the hammer. The hammer was back behind his head. The hammer was meeting the beans, ready to rebound for the next blow.

It fell as he let go. He heard a series of dull thuds as the hammer fell - thought the one right in front of him was first - couldn't be sure. His eyes darted as if he might catch a glimpse of his own elbow twice over, out of alignment, or himself standing beside himself - as if, but really, he didn't know what he was looking for.

He left the hammer where it was, and wandered over to the couch. He'd just wanted some coffee. Maybe the chance to release some tension before he had to be on the air in - he checked his phone - five minutes, now. He could get something brewing and grab it during the weather, at least.

It had happened again. Whatever it was. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't going away. It wasn't stopping, and this was not a new realization - this had been getting worse over the course of weeks.

But it wasn't like he wondered what to do about it. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could _say_ could possibly stop this - this problem, this event, this _this_ in the absence of any meaningful antecedent.

And he had a lot to say, anyway. Speak before you think. If he didn't get into the booth now, management would never let him feel the end of it.

 

* * *

 

 

Doctor Kayali, Carlos' caller ID told him. He picked up the phone.

_"Hello?"_

_"Carlos?"_

_"That's me. Scientifically speaking, that is my name. What's up?"_

_"Carlos, where are you?"_

_"Um... I decided to take a sabbatical."_

_"You decided to take a sabbatical."_

_"Yes."_

_"This isn't how that works, and you know it. You can't just disappear."_

_"You're right. I can't. I mean, it's the law of conservation of mass. But I can, um, get involved in a personal project? And go somewhere else. Somewhere with science to do, you know?"_

_"We have science to do here! We really do need you, Carlos. You were a valuable member of the team, and-"_

_"I know. I know I was. Sorry for interrupting, but, it's just, that wasn't the problem. You were all great, okay?"_

_"Alright, fine. What was the problem, then?"_

_"Well… It was about the results, I think. About the interpretation of those results? Oh. No. About their purpose. Hey, listen, I need to get moving. I'm really, really sorry. But I just had something else I needed to do."_

_"Carlos, wait-"_

He did not wait.

 

* * *

 

 

_"'...not enough population to support such facilities. A petting zoo? Who wants to play with starving jackals, anyway?' said the council, and also they already spent the budget because everyone knows how plane tickets are sooo much more expensive when you buy them well in advance._

_"So, 4th of July festivities for the year are canceled. For those of us who will miss watching a pack of starved jackals tear apart some poor unfortunate from among us, the council had this to say: that's just how it has to be, from now on._

_"And now, an update on the Blood Space War. It's over. It will be over. You know this, because I have already reported it. Due to the changes in the timeline and the fragile nature of our community in particular, local government officials have reported that poverty and homelessness have actually gone_ down _by as much as seventy-five percent. This is because, apparently, much of our population has never existed at all._

_"I asked them where they got the original figure from, in that case, but..."_

 

* * *

 

The highway passed through a lot of small towns. Carlos stopped at a lot of diners. The radio was on, in this one. Some local program.

Carlos listened as he ate, at first, but soon he was doing more listening and less eating. In the end, he just sat there, twisting the same fry in his fingertips, as a man spoke on the radio. The man had a voice like honey, or the night sky, or wait those things were entirely different, so why did they both make figurative sense? Anyway. Anyway, Carlos just needed to hear what he was saying.

 _"...They just shouted about how 'We are now a wealthier, healthier community now. Furthermore, less homes and buildings means less municipal maintenance required, and it's not like any of us remember what we're missing, anyway, so quit talking about it on the air or you're just going to stir up bad feelings. You wouldn't want to do that, would you? You wouldn't want people to_ feel bad _because of what you said-' Okay, you know what?_

_"You're right. I don't. That's the motto of the journalistic profession: shut up about all those uncomfortable truths._

_"Well, if you know anything about people disappearing, or not being born when there were supposed to be, or just know anything, feel free to give the station a call. It's been really slow lately, anyway, so I'm sure Lloyd will be happy to take a message. Thank you._

_"And I'm afraid that's all the time we have this evening. I_ _'m afraid. I know that you, too, are out there, afraid and alone, with only my voice for company. Take comfort in the fact that, soon, you will not have to be afraid, or alone. You won't have to be. But until then, let my voice carry you into the unraveling night. Good night, Night Vale. Good night."_


	2. Chapter 2

Cecil pulled open the door to the station, and nearly walked right into the most beautiful man he had ever seen. 

"Oh, sorry!" Carlos said.

"No!" Cecil shouted, and then realized he had shouted, and coughed too deliberately. "Uh, I mean, no, it's fine. You're fine. You're great, I think." 

Carlos squinted at him considerately, and then beamed. "And  _ you're _ the man on the radio! I wanted to talk to you!" 

Cecil took a step back, hoping to disguise how that smile almost had him swooning. Those teeth. Like a military cemetary. That hair. There was not a single flaw in the way it fell and framed the man's face. Cecil understood that he was in love already, and said, "To me? Why?"

"You asked if anyone knew about things disappearing. Well, I do. I know that things can't disappear. It's science. The law of conservation of mass - matter can neither be created or destroyed."

Cecil stared at him, with one hand on the door, his arm with a jacket over it tight against his chest. Carlos looked him over, and said, "Oh, shoot, I'm sorry. You were leaving, weren't you? I'm sorry, I would have called, like you said..."

_ Oh, so he was  _ listening, Cecil thought, and let his shoulder rest against the door, too. He had been leaving, sure, but now not even the threat of force could have moved him. 

"...But you, um, didn't give a number? So I just asked a waitress if she had any contact information, or for the name of the town so I could google it myself, something... And she didn't say anything, actually, but she had these  _ fascinating _ branches that were a part of her body, and she dropped an apple onto the table for me when I paid. When I bit into it, because I needed to know how it tasted to understand it, that's science, you know - there was paper inside! That paper had directions to here. So I just decided to swing by." 

"Oh! I… didn't say the number, did I? Whoops." It had been an oversight, although more in the vein of, Cecil had assumed most people listening would know how to reach the station and he didn't need to say it. Which, hold on a second: "Wait, are you new here? You  _ must _ be new here. I would definitely remember seeing you before…" 

"Oh." Carlos shifted, grabbing onto his own elbow and tugging at his sleeve. "I'm just staying the night. I think. I'm on my way to see if I can find somewhere… Somewhere scientifically interesting. I'm a scientist, you know? My name is Carlos."

"A scientist? Neat!" Cecil gasped, and then let his head sink onto the door, too. He needed a minute to see if he could pry his foot out of his mouth, although his chances were not looking good. "I mean, ummm, I've been a scientist before… We're all scientists at some point in our lives, aren't we? But, right now, I'm the local radio host. Cecil Palmer."

He held out a hand. 

"It is neat! Science is neat, and I think that is maybe the sixth neatest thing about it. It's universal. It touches every life." Carlos offered him a tentative smile, put at ease by Cecil's enthusiasm. He shook Cecil's hand. 

Palm against palm. Skin on skin, but only the parts of them that touched other people and objects most often. The least intimate kind of physical contact, that they might have shared with almost anyone in their lives at one point or another. 

That touch - that same first touch had happened before. 

_ Cecil held on too long. They were surrounded by people, milling about following the town meeting, picking at leftover corn muffins or eyeing the scientists suspiciously. Cecil had pushed his way to the front. He introduced himself and welcomed Carlos to their community and invited him for an interview, all in one breath, all without letting go of his hand.  _

The tremors of a moment that had taken place already, would happen again, reached them.  The echoes of introductions. Replications with all variety of results that they could imagine. More. 

_ Carlos let go too quickly. They were alone in a recording studio, and through the window there were lights reflecting off the water, lights  _ _ spreading iridescent over the waves like an oil slick. It wasn't that he didn't like Cecil, who had been more kind than anyone else. Cecil was the only one who really seemed enthusiastic about his and his team's presence and about science itself. It was the opposite problem, maybe, but Carlos was reluctant to articulate that. Later, he would, but then, he let go too quickly.  _

They had been together more often than they had been apart. 

Their hands dropped. 

"You-" They both said.

And then Carlos said, "What was that?"

And Cecil was silent. He let go of the door, and Carlos caught it. Cecil didn't notice. 

_ A bench in Mission Grove Park. Carlos offered Cecil a piece of chewing gum. Cecil declined; he felt that gum made it difficult for him to speak clearly, aware as he was of its weight in his mouth. And Carlos looked at Cecil. Cecil, thoughtful, a little sheepish about denying Carlos even that simple thing, watching a squirrel fight a snake that had manifested from some pizza crust. Cecil knew that Carlos was watching him, too, though. He turned his head, and Carlos was already leaning forward, taking his hand- _

_ The radio station,  _ this _ radio station. Coming and going, noon and night. The breakroom or the studio, or lingering in the lobby after lunch. They chatted while Carlos fixed his hair in the bathroom, his smartphone open to the front facing camera, or while they listened to the weather. They held hands, and walked out to one man's car, or the other's.   _

_ His bedroom doorway. Two cups of coffee. Waiting. He sipped his, and looked in on the still, peaceful form that was his husband. Let him sleep for a few more minutes. He did go in, set the coffee on the nightstand, and take Carlos' hand, lightly brushing the knuckles.  _

"Hey, are you okay?"

Cecil breathed out. "What? Oh. I'm fine."

His eyes burned. He knew why, and he could not think of it. It was not denial, and this made him resentful; normally, it was his only form of control, and now he didn't have the choice. He knew something, but it wasn't him; it was like the knowledge existed, physically, a step to the left. In this flimsy, empty place, it was nothing more than wires crossing. 

"Um. Sorry, but, scientifically speaking, people don't usually cry if they're 'fine.' Upset, or even really ecstatic, but not just fine. Are you sure you're okay? Because you don't look really ecstatic."

Cecil breathed in. He ran a hand over the back of his eyes. "I- Yeah. Listen, did you feel that?"

"You better believe I did! But I don't have a scientific explanation for it, so don't ask me about it. Yet. I need some time to think, and hopefully do some experiments to work things out, and I also  think I've got some questions for  _ you _ , if you have some time, which. I understand if you don't, so no pressure!"

Questions. That alarmed Cecil, finally; that drew him out of the situation far enough to look at it. He had no business answering a stranger's questions. Cecil had just learned this man's name. Just because Carlos was beautiful, and charismatic, and had been demonstrably kind toward strangers for all of the three minutes they had been speaking - it didn't mean anything. He had said enough tonight, anyway. He should save the oversharing for facebook. Not some stranger who hadn't even come to study  _ them _ . Carlos said himself he had better things to do, places to be. 

He sighed, and straightened up. "Listen, I appreciate…"

_ "...Your coming to pick me up! Where do you want to get dinner?"  _

_ "...That you called earlier, but it's really alright."  _

_ He hesitated, dropped his head onto Carlos' shoulder. He could not find the words, but it was alright. He didn’t have to- _

Cecil rubbed his eyes again, as if to clear away the residue of sleep. It was not sleep. It- it. What was it. Whatever it was, he knew it was getting worse. Something coming undone, cracks appearing in surfaces and structures and even people. He didn't know what to do for his town, but he knew that it was vanishing. 

Maybe a scientist would know. Maybe a scientist could find out. 

Maybe he could trust this man. 

He would choose to try. Cecil said, "I appreciate it. There's like, three empty conference rooms. I'll get us some coffee, if you want to come in."

 

* * *

 

Carlos wandered around the conference room while he waited. There was a calendar on the wall, and he read over some events: the cross-media baseball league, staff meetings, employee review period. The calendar was hiding a hole in the wall that whispered. He put his ear to it, and found that it listed all the dates of future species extinctions. He found a tape measure in his lab coat pocket, took a record of the hole's dimensions, and moved on to a nearby filing cabinet.

The first drawer was full of rotting vegetation, categorized alphabetically but with no system at all for dating specimens. He scrambled away, and decided that he'd seen enough of that. 

"Are you alright?" 

Carlos spun around to see Cecil setting a chipped, plastic lunch tray with coffee and what they referred to in the scientific community as 'the fixings' on the table. 

"Oh, no! Was it the hole? I'm sorry, I should have warned you."

"No! It was poorly categorized materials. Just… ugh. It definitely seems like you could use a scientific perspective around here, or at least some administrative assistance." 

"Both," Cecil said wistfully. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Oh, I can do that."

Cecil picked up the creamer, suddenly feeling much lighter for his decision to pick it up earlier. "No, it's okay! It was so nice of you to offer to stay and help out with… this. The least I can do is get you something to drink."

"Well, I do love helping people. It's…" He set his hand over the back of the chair, next to Cecil's. "It's one of the things I love most… But this isn't purely altruistic. I also want to study just what is going on around here."

He took the creamer from Cecil's hand gently. Their fingertips brushed, and it was not that nothing happened, just that their eyes met and their hearts held a pulse in for an extra beat. 

"Also, I just. I know how I like it, but…" He set the creamer back on the tray. "Well. I want to get started taking notes, so if you're sure. Okay. Okay. It's a five-second pour of sugar and a three-second pour of creamer."

Cecil smiled. Carlos' heart repeated its palpitation. 

He slipped a notebook from his pocket, and teased a pen from the binding. "So. What  _ is _ going on around here, by your observation?"

Cecil stirred the coffee, watching the sugar and cream leech the color out, and thought about chemical reactions. Tannins binding. He was pretty sure he had never heard the word 'tannins' before in his life. And yet, there was the cream, pale whorls, grabbing onto those bitter particles he had a taste for. 

He pushed a mug across the table. "Wait, uh, sorry - what was the question?"

Carlos snagged the mug by the handle. "Thank you. And the question was: what is going on around here?" 

"Well… Reportedly, people have been disappearing, but the only people who know about it are people who have an indefinable relationship to time. Veterans of the Blood Space War. It hasn't been fought yet, but thousands of years from now, it will be over. We've had people come home."

"Oh, right! You mentioned that… I thought it was weird, because for all that linear time is totally bogus, scientifically speaking, it also doesn't usually work that way."

"Uh-huh. Anyway, I've been thinking about it. Disappearing isn't really the right way to describe this. People vanish all the time here, usually for political reasons. But this... Well. They've never been born, these people. Or they left years ago. And maybe some of them were supposed to arrive, but now..."

Carlos bit the tip of his pen. "What's 'now' even mean, right? Especially based on the data you've given me. It sounds like things are, in scientific terms, seriously out of whack."

"All I know is…" Cecil bought himself time with a long drink of coffee, and set the mug down more heavily than he had meant to. 

"We've always been a strong community, is what… I know. I know that, but it's not true, is it? It can't be. We're not a town, we're a collection of empty lots and abandoned buildings. And it has to be right, doesn't it? That's just what the timeline is. There are so many Night Vales, so of course, some of them…

"I guess we just drew the short straw on existence, right? Isn't that what existence is, a short straw in a drawing you did not ask to take part in, a gateway into pain and fear and - not emptiness itself, but an understanding of entropy?"

Cecil's voice filled the space around them. Its clarity was a physical thing, inescapable, dire.

Carlos said, "I don't think that."

He prepared to respond to Cecil's scoffing, telling him he just couldn't understand this without having done the research, or maybe at all. In which case, no, he could at least try to do some research. Instead, Cecil leaned forward over the table, attentive, almost eager. But not eager. No. Hopeful, Carlos realized. He cleared his throat, and went on.

"About existence, I mean. I think existence is exciting. I do think exciting things can be terrible sometimes. This situation, for example, is exciting, and I'm very sorry about that. I wish that you could lead a boring life here, except for where science makes it exciting. I promise, Cecil. I promise I'll do everything in my power to make your life super boring. And I've got the power of science on my side, which, let me tell you, is nothing to sneeze at!"

Cecil laughed, short, soft: a moment of decompression. "And I guess I don't think that either. I think... This town, this Night Vale, it's not right. I think we're supposed to be something else." 

Carlos said, "Maybe. Maybe, but… Hold on a second."

This time, he pulled the letter from his pocket and examined it. Its origin was no clearer than it had ever been. So it was a very unscientific impulse that led him to ask, "Is there a community college here?"

"Uh. For some reason, yes. No students or teachers, though. It seems like its main reason for existing is to give a local transient somewhere to stay, which is… fine, honestly. You know, she lives in the earth sciences department; I've been wondering if she might know something! Do you want to speak with her? Oh, I can never remember her name…"

"No. Her name isn't important. I mean, it is, to people who know and love her, but not to me - to us - right now." Carlos spread the letter out on the table. "Do you know if the community college ever offered research fellowships?"

"I'm not- not…" Cecil caught his head in his hands. The unseeing double-vision was back. He tried to look only forward; it was not hard to look at Carlos. He tried to speak again. "I don't… oh." 

The problem was, he - _was looking at Carlos._ _Cecil perched on the conference room table, held out his hands._

_Carlos took one, and looped a bag of carryout food over the other. He asked -_ asked, "Cecil? Hey, are you okay? Hey - _hey,_ _I can go grab some sauce if you want._ "

_ "I'm fine. I can live without it. I'm just glad you're here." Cecil hopped down and swung the bag onto the table behind him. He -  _ pushed his chair away from the table, tried to stand up, just so he could reconcile his position with where he was already standing. 

_ "Well, shall we dig in?" _

_ "I thought you'd never ask! I am starving-" _

Cecil tripped over his chair and threw himself forward, catching himself on the table. Carlos steadied his shoulder. Cecil looked up, into his eyes, and swallowed hard to stop himself from sobbing. He didn't know why. He didn't know anything, except that his stomach was pitching a sharp fit.

"Can you hear me? Are you alright?" That oaky voice, that emphatic concern. 

Cecil might have struggled to give his own name, if someone had asked him. It was all too washed out. But he knew one thing. 

"You were supposed to be here."

"Wait a minute, what? Or, no. No. You look really sick. Listen, if you could just, I don't know, if you know any hotels around here? I can drop you off at home, if that would help you, and we'll figure things out tomorrow, okay?" 

"All… all the ones around here have this... new open concept design." Cecil slid back into his chair, and closed his eyes. His breath caught up with him. "...so there are no individual rooms, just beds and TVs and closets lined up on the floors… Um."

"Oh. That sounds terrible."

"Yeah. Yeah, so. If you can give me a ride home. You can stay the night?" 

"Oh! I super appreciate the offer, but I do  _ not _ want to impose." 

"No, it's fine… You can even have the bed, if you want." Cecil nodded. "Yeah, definitely. You said you were just staying for a night, anyway? So just… Come over."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes. Very." He pressed his hands as flat as he could on the table, his fingers threaded between each other. "As long as you're comfortable with it."

"Okay. Do you need help walking or anything?"

"No. I don't think so, anyway."

"Then let's get you home! And me, to… a temporary encampment on your couch! I am not taking your bed away from you."

* * *

 

 

Cecil felt much steadier by the time they reached his apartment. He apologized for the mess four times, but Carlos understood - Cecil had not been expecting company, and even if he had been, there was a highly scientific equation relevant to the situation: "life = mess."

While Cecil made dinner, Carlos lounged on the couch. Cecil had denied any offers of help, and so Carlos read over everything on his phone except his email. Cecil asked Carlos two and a half times if he wanted anything. During the second ask, he got distracted by something on stove. Carlos finally accepted some water, as much so that Cecil could calm down as because Carlos was thirsty. 

Cecil checked if Carlos wanted the bed again, just once. Carlos was firm about that, explaining honestly that he had some research he wanted to do. He dug his laptop out of his bag as Cecil was heading back to the bedroom.

Cecil gasped, "Carlos! Be careful!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Do you have a license for that?" 

"No?" Carlos still held the lid half open. "Do I need one?"

"Of course! If the secret police catch you, you could end up with a fine! Or even jail time - they've heightened the penalty recently."

"Oh. Well… I'll take my chances, I think. I need this for my scientific research. If the secret police want to keep existing, they can let this slide for one night." 

"You're a brave man… Just be careful, alright? If anyone knocks, you can tell them it's mine."

Carlos considered this offer. He shook his head, but said, "You're no coward yourself, Cecil. Good night."

"Oh, um! Well." Cecil flushed. "Good night, Carlos."

He stood there, not realizing how long it had been until Carlos glanced at him again, and then slipped away down the hall.

Carlos had thought there would be something on the internet about Night Vale, or the Blood Space War. Some background he could use to prepare a hypothesis and decide on an experiment to start with. He found absolutely nothing. Even with quotation marks, his searches returned information on a spectrum of "nope" to "irrelevant," although the Twin Vales Nightly Ghost Tour did sound interesting. 

He didn't realize it had already been several hours until he was startled to his feet by a cry from down the hallway. After a moment to process the sound, he recognized the voice. It was followed by another, which confirmed his theory. It was Cecil.

Carlos hesitated. Part of him wanted to go and knock, but he didn't want to be intrusive. He already felt like he was being intrusive. Although Cecil had made this as difficult as possible, the sense that Carlos was bothering someone did not have a switch attached.

In the end, he didn't need to make the choice. Cecil came out of the bedroom, and stopped halfway down the hall as he assessed the figure standing in his living room.

"Oh! Oh, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No. I was doing some research, like I said."

"Okay, good."

Neither of them moved. 

Carlos said, "Are you okay? I did hear… Well, I'm not sure what I heard."

"Ah. I'm sorry. It was just a bad dream. I have them sometimes."

"Most humans do. There's a lot of scientific data on the subject, but absolutely no conclusions. Fun stuff, if you ever get the chance to look into it, and also nothing you need to apologize for."

"Okay."

Carlos nodded. After a moment of more stillness, he sat back down. Cecil went into the kitchen, and came out with a glass of frothy orange liquid. 

"Ooh, is that orange milk?"

"Uh-huh. Do you want some?"

"Actually, yes. I can get it myself, though, if you're alright with that. If you want to get back to bed."

Cecil considered. "No. No, I'm not sure… Anyway, I can get it for you. You just stay right there."

"Okay." 

Cecil returned from the kitchen with a second glass. He set it on the coffee table, and then folded his arm over his chest, picking at the silky folds of a red dressing gown around his elbow. 

Carlos took a drink. "Oh, yeah, that really hits the spot! Thank you!"

"Of course." He nodded, and bit his lip. "Can I sit?"

"It's your couch," answered Carlos, with complete sincerity.

Cecil sat down, regarding Carlos' laptop warily. Carlos shrugged, and Cecil said, "Sorry. It's just been awhile since I've seen one. I let my license expire years ago."

Carlos glanced up at the ceiling thoughtfully, and nodded. "You're no coward, that's for sure."

Cecil laughed, and shook his head. He leaned onto the opposite arm of the couch, and tucked his feet up on the cushion between them. "I just need a minute. Then I'll leave you alone."

"It's fine. It is your couch, not to mention your home."

"Mmm," Cecil agreed. 

Then, only the sound of Carlos' typing. Cecil's brow furrowed as he looked over the laptop. 

Carlos' fingers went still. Without looking up, he asked.  "What did you mean earlier? When you said I was supposed to be here?"

Cecil unfolded in an instant, sitting up straight and staring at Carlos, his eyes wide and serious. 

Carlos shook his head quickly. "Sorry, I know it's weird. I was just… you know, wondering."

"No, I understand," Cecil murmured. "I think the problem is… It's too easy to explain."

Carlos nodded. "In another timeline, I came here. I stayed here, probably. I took that research fellowship. If I'd just taken that research fellowship, then…"

But it was a pointless hypothesis. He would never see the result. 

Cecil said absently, "I'm glad you didn't." 

"Oh."

"No. No, I mean. I wouldn't want you to have to… live through this." Cecil sighed. 

And Carlos felt something that ultimately boiled down to  _ It's not right that you should have to live through this, either. No one should have to, but I really don't want this to happen to you.  _ But he experienced it mainly as an ache in his chest, a hollowing that the wind could blow over and wail through. It would have taken more time than he had to pin down in scientific terms.

Still, in that hollow, he found a desire. Not something he had never had before, but never so soon after meeting someone. He just was not a kinesthetically-oriented person, and yet that gap in him had a shape, maybe. Maybe it could be filled. 

Carlos asked, "Can I hold your hand?"

Cecil's face burned red under the blue of the laptop screen. "Yes?"

Carlos set his hand on top of Cecil's on the cushion between them. Cecil flipped his palm upward, and lightly folded his fingers over Carlos' knuckles, as though he expected Carlos to pull away immediately. When he didn't, Cecil squeezed, just once. Just gently. 

And then Carlos, looking out the window over Cecil's head, enjoying that touch and wondering  _ why _ he did, noticed something. 

"What's wrong with the moon?" 

Cecil looked over his shoulder. "It was damaged in a battle, maybe a few months ago? The brave Earthen army and its allies saved our town, but… doing that is what changed the timeline."

"So if we could change it back…" Carlos calculated.  "Oh. Then I guess the town would just be destroyed. And also the planet. That would be unhelpful."

"Probably. It's not like we could warn anyone."

Carlos sagged against the couch. "That isn't even the problem. We could totally warn people - it would be easy for me to boost a signal - say, the signal of your broadcast - into space, but even if we do that, there's no way to know how people would respond, or if they would. Honestly, I'm still open to trying it, but… It opens up the possibility for things to go even worse. I think the only way to be sure would be to prevent a war."

Cecil smiled. It was a torn-up expression, and all the rage in it was turned inward. "And that's just not something one voice can do."

Carlos ran a hand over the top of his laptop, plucking at the rubber seal. He  _ hmm _ ed. Then he brought the lid down suddenly, and pushed the computer onto the coffee table.

"Cecil, that's it!" He took Cecil's hand tightly in both of his, and lifted it. "I know how to save Night Vale!"

"What, the fact that we can't warn anyone is how you'll save the town?"

"No!  _ We _ will save the town! And here's how…"

 

* * *

They did not reach the radio station until evening. As much as they needed to work quickly, it wouldn't serve them - or anyone else - to rush. 

They were crossing the radio station lobby when three men stepped out of the sales offices, blocking the hallway. All three wore identical business suits in desert camouflage. The one in the middle crossed his arms and said, without a trace of irony, "Hold it right there."

Cecil and Carlos stopped. Carlos looked around, and saw different men in the same suit all around the edges of the room. Including in front of the doors. He understood that science was not without its risks. People who wanted to stand in the way of progress, and the exits. 

"Cecil," he said. 

But Cecil was smiling, and said, bizarrely, "Hey, what's this about? Fashion Week just happened, right? Ooh, but I have to say, I'm not surprised you were saved from the sphere."

"Don't move. It will be easier if you don't move."

The spokesman stepped forward, and the other two moved in to fill the gap he had left. Carlos looked behind them. There was a second man approaching them. Both had their hands behind their backs, an unwieldy position to conceal something that was not small. The circle of men was tightening around them.

"Cecil," Carlos repeated. 

Carlos saw Cecil's hand shift and settle against his pocket, fingers curling as he fought an urge to reach out. Carlos waited. 

Cecil said, "You're right, I could use some advice for next year! But this guy, well… He's as fashion-forward and hip as they come. Just look at that hair, right? Great hair." 

"Sit down," said the man, nodding at the cracked-vinyl couch to their left. 

"Alright, alright…" Cecil drifted that way. 

Carlos followed, with quick, nervous steps that soon overtook Cecil's leisurely pace. 

Cecil said, "But seriously, I don't think there's much you can do for him. Have you ever seen hair like that? Because I haven't. And you just can't improve on perfection. It's in the  _ scientific _ meaning of the word."

Carlos breathed in, and nodded.

Cecil went on, "You may as well just… let him get out of here." 

And then Cecil was running past him. He hit the couch and jumped onto it, jamming a knee into the old thing to drive it into the stomachs of the men lined up behind it. He would have fallen with it, and lost his lead, but Carlos was behind him and grabbed his shoulder. 

Cecil wheezed, and took off running. They were outside of the circle now, dashing for the door. Cecil gasped, "Paper!"

Carlos gave him the first thing that came to his hand, the letter. Cecil rushed it over his fingertip, and teased the tiny wound wide enough to smear blood on the door handle. They ran into the desert sunset, and all but threw themselves into Carlos' car. Cecil ended up on the driver's side, and Carlos was glad to toss him the keys, because the scientist was shaking so hard that he wasn't certain he was safe to drive.

"Who… was… that?" He panted. His fingers were wrapped tightly into the collar of his lab coat, pulling it taut where his grip didn't crumple it. 

Cecil had them out of the parking lot and caught his breath before he answered, glancing over and over again into the rearview mirror. "Government agents. Military officials. Both, acting with ill-gotten authority. Someone does not want us to stop the Blood Space War before it even ends." 

"But why? There's  _ nothing _ less scientific than war. All that violence, and for what?"

Cecil thought about it, and then said lightly, "Imperialism, mainly. Also capitalism. Can't forget that."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. That's also highly unscientific."

Cecil nodded. His knuckles were bloodless against the steering wheel. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. It was kind of alarming, but I'm fine. A scientist is always fine," Carlos said decisively. "What about you? Is your knee okay?"

"Oh, no! But it's nothing serious, and it won't stop me from walking."

"Cecil, listen, if you need-"

"I need your help, Carlos. Sorry. Sorry to cut you off there, but… That's what I need, I think."

"Then I'll help you! Of course! You're thinking about what to do next, right? What's the scientific solution?"

"Yes."

"Well… We can't get into the radio station. I could really use a place where I could go to ground for a minute, do some  _ real _ science. A laboratory would be ideal."

Cecil considered this. "You know, there's some old lab space by Big Rico's. It's a pizza place - the best in town. Such a firmly rooted institution in our community, that it hasn't disappeared even without any customers! Or Big Rico. No idea what happened to him, or… wait, was it even named after a specific person? I don't think so."

He coughed. "But you were asking about important things. Science things. Yes, I think there's a lab over there. It's been empty for years, though."

"Well, then, that sounds perfect. Let's go!"

They were, by now, the only car on the roads. Once they got within a reasonable walking distance, they abandoned the car and slipped through the cool streets. 

"Hey, Cecil?" Carlos whispered.

"Yes?"

"You kept… saying that about my hair. Do you really think it?"

"Of course! I would  _ never _ lie about such beauty!" 

The jagged moon was still low when they reached the lab. Cecil had the door unlocked in moments, with only a whisper of, "I was in the boy scouts" for an explanation. Inside was dust, mainly, supported by countertops and a single table. They hauled as much equipment as they could into a back office, hoping it might keep them hidden for even a moment more, if they needed it. It could have been a cozy place. 

_ "So, should we get started?" Cecil asked. "Or, well, I guess you know…" _

_ He trailed off. Carlos stopped in the middle of pushing back his chair, one hand braced on his desk. "No, I don't know. Get started on what, Ceec?"  _

_ Cecil's gaze dropped. He peered into the soil holding the succulent on Carlos' desk, and shook his head. "No, never mind- I just thought… I…" _

_ "Ceec? Honey?" Carlos picked up the succulent, and turned the pot in his hands. "No, I'm sorry, that was really forward… Cecil. Cecil, this isn't-"  _

_ "No, I was just asking… asking…" _

"Cecil? What's wrong?"

"What?"

"I mean, yes, we should get started." Carlos nudged a stool over to Cecil. He'd found a cluster in the back of the lab, and dragged a pair back. They were the only furniture in the room. "But seriously, what's going on?"

Cecil dropped onto the stool. "It was… it was just another time. Here, I think…"

Carlos closed his eyes. "This space has a lot of potential. I could see myself… Could have, anyway."

Cecil nodded. 

"I remember," Carlos said. He stood up and walked around the office. His steps were deliberate, settling in the dust. He did not touch the walls, but he came close. "Except that isn't the right word, scientifically, because I'm not recalling anything. Just  _ calling _ , maybe. Somehow I have been here, but I haven't in my lifetime, and also, it was never like this. Do you know what I mean? Is this a sensory experience you're familiar with?"

"Well. I mean." Cecil hesitated. 

"I should have been here." 

Cecil looked up at him, his lips parted. Carlos sat down again, and folded his arms over his chest. "I want to save Night Vale. I want to save it for you, and for everyone who was meant to live here. And I think that means me, too. Does that sound selfish?"

"No!" Cecil started. " _ God _ , no. I mean, you don't know this place… or me, so… for you to do all that, it's… it's a lot, really. I will always be grateful, for as long as I have a self to feel that way. And if that isn't much longer, then I will experience that feeling with enough intensity to match the length of a slower, deeper sensation."

"You're sweet. And hey. You have a really beautiful voice, too. If you have more sweet things to say, go ahead."

"Oh! Carlos!" 

And Carlos actually winked. "We do not lie about beautiful things, do we?" 

Cecil pressed a hand to his chest. "Oh, no. No, we don't."

"Good. Well. Shall we do some science?"

"Please! It's like, you know… Can't do radio without science! Otherwise, we wouldn't have much in the way of equipment." 

It took time. It also took a gutted microscope casing resting on a third stool, three spools of twine, coolant, and at one point Cecil had to risk slipping out for some extra super glue. Carlos finished wrapping the twine around what was once the viewing tube of the microscope, and stepped back. 

He dusted his hands off, although they were quite clean, and declared, "And… done! One boosted radio broadcasting device that will carry a signal not just through space, but through time!" 

"Ooh, neat! Thank you!"

"No problem. It's what I do. I'm a scientist."

"You are, and I  _ love _ you!"

Carlos spun to face him. "You do?"

"Oh. Umm. Yes." He lifted the cobbled-together microphone to his lips, closed his eyes, and spoke to the radio. "I have never seen a more beautiful man in my entire life, and I fell in love instantly. I don't know what will happen now, but I love you."

"I… don't know how to feel about that, honestly," Carlos admitted. "But I think… I could love you, too. I think I want to have that chance, so."

"So let's save Night Vale?" 

Cecil slipped a tape into a slot. 

The door slammed open. In fact, someone had slammed it open. A man in a desert-camouflage suit stood in the doorway. He stepped into the office, and his subordinates filed in around him. 

"Step away from the radio."

Cecil moved, conditioned as he was to respond to such figures, but Carlos did not listen. Carlos was close enough. Their eyes met. Carlos pressed a button on the device, and said, "Cecil! You're on the air!"

And this had a far more powerful pull. 

_ "Listeners… Night Vale citizens, citizens of space and the future, from twenty minutes from now to the very start of the political turmoil that has brought us here… I present to you, a brief public service announcement. I cannot stop a war on my own. No one of you can. But I have not just my own words to share with you tonight." _

"Shut it down!" The spokesman shouted. "Shut him up!" 

But Cecil was speaking. Everyone else listened.

_ "I have the words of those who have fought, and understand now that they should not have. Not like this. Not for that. Veteran is not, in these circumstances, a role to be honored. Those who came to understand their responsibility along with how they were manipulated will speak to you now… And all I ask is that you add your own stories. Do not let it lie. Do not let it pass. Do not fight the Blood Space War." _

The spokesman himself dashed forward, and kicked over the stool. The device shattered, and several of the men came to their senses. They grabbed Cecil and Carlos, and pulled them apart. 

"It's out there!" Cecil gasped, grinning. "It's out there now."

Carlos told them, "Your mistake was underestimating the power of science! And community radio!" 

"You  _ idiots. _ " The spokesman growled. "What do you think will happen now? Whole communities are going to starve without the resources that our soldiers-"

"Communities starve in war," Carlos said. "It's an scientific fact about an unscientific phenomenon. You just don't consider them your -  _ our _ \- communities."

"You're scared," Cecil said. 

The man scoffed.

"No. No, I know you're scared, because I am, too. And for a long time, I acted on that fear. Now, we don't know what's going to happen, and you're scared it will be different. You're terrified of the work that will make it different."

Cecil stood up as tall as he could, in spite of the agent clutching his wrists behind his back.

"And you know what? Good. I think you should be. I know-"


	3. Chapter 3

"I know exactly what you're after!"

Cecil grinned at Carlos. He balanced a basket of laundry against his hip, and opened his other arm for his husband. The silky sleeve of his dressing gown flowed over the back of Carlos' lab coat as Cecil pulled him close.

Carlos angled the spatula he was holding carefully away. "Confirmation of whether or not we just succeeded in majorly changing the timeline?"

"Oh. I thought you wanted a kiss."

"Of course I want a kiss!"

Having established this mutual desire, they kissed. When they pulled away, Cecil added, "I'm pretty sure we did succeed in changing the timeline, though."

"I'm going to need to do some research about how we're remembering that. But first, kiss me again, because as a matter of perception: I missed you. Or, I didn't, but now I really feel like I did. Ugh."

"Hold on." Cecil edged to the side, and Carlos let him go, until he could drop the laundry basket onto the couch.

Then Carlos closed the gap between them, and they kissed again, this time to the point of breathlessness. Cecil pushed the laundry basket to one side of the couch, and Carlos set the spatula down, making sure that the flat rested on a coaster.

A sense of emptiness hovered between them, although slowly filling up as they settled into the rightness of this moment, the reality of it. Cecil tucked his feet onto the couch, and leaned onto Carlos' shoulder, nuzzling his neck.

"Hey. Hey, you. I will never not love you."

Carlos laughed, and ruffled Cecil's hair. Instead of pulling back, Carlos teased his fingers into Cecil's curls and rubbed just so. It drew the expected noise from the back of Cecil's throat, half-melted contentment.

Carlos nodded. "I think it's true for me, too. It's just… It's harder for me to describe love at the outset. There is nothing scientific about love, and I am not used to something so unscientific being so wonderful. It takes getting used to."

"That's fair. That's alright. You can take as long as you need. Every time." Cecil squinted. "Although, I would definitely prefer that that kind of thing not happen again. If we could just, you know, not…"

"Oh, yeah, no, definitely. Like, it's cool that it worked out, but I think I could live without that again."

"Glad we're on the same page." Cecil said, and began working a trail of tiny kisses up Carlos' neck, along his jaw.

"Oh. Ooh… Hold on, hold on…" Carlos turned his head, catching Cecil in one more firm kiss on the lips. "I have to finish making dinner. And it is still your turn to do laundry."

Cecil pouted. "Fiiine."

"It is fine. Scientifically speaking, this is about as fine as it gets: a quiet evening alone with my husband."

"Carlos…"

"Ceec."

"Well. I guess we'd better get our chores done if we want to play. No one will make us, after all."

"Exactly. The terrible freedom of adulthood."

"Alright, bunny. So I guess that means I have to let you up."

"Well… I'm certainly not going to make you."

"Carlooos…" Cecil whined, but unsprawled, and stood up.

One more kiss, and then they got to work. Not even a torn timeline could break the familiar, comfortable pull of routine, of six years of life woven together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I ended it that way because... It just felt weirder/worse for all of that to have no consequences or bearing on things going forward at all? I don't know if I'd ever follow this up with anything, but that's the why of it.


End file.
